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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29883012">Someday</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cilceon/pseuds/cilceon'>cilceon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lying Eyes and Honest Hands [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, F/M, Healing, Slow Build, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:20:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29883012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cilceon/pseuds/cilceon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I was wonderin’ when you were gonna show up.” Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t a cigarette in the old woman’s hand. Whatever she was smoking was rolled up in scraps of old newspaper. From the smell, it was something that Hancock would be jealous of.<br/>“Oh, mighty fortune teller, please tell me I finally win the lottery.” He leaned against the wall next to her chair, shifting Churchbell to the side as he did so. A steady breeze wove its way through the town, causing the wind chimes of shells and bone, pre-war tech and broken glass hanging from the warped metal awning to sing with their movement.<br/>Mama Murphy flicked the ashes of her joint with a smirk, “What’d ya’ mean finally? Kid, you already got the whole world.”<br/>Deacon smiled off towards Charlie’s home, behind the tree. “How’s she doing?”<br/>“Misses you somethin’ awful though she ain’t ever going to say it out loud.” She hummed, “Be better if you were in her light rather than shadow.”<br/>“You know that ain’t my stick Murphy.”<br/>(something that been in my head for a while now about what happens after the main questline is completed... &amp; what that means for Deacon &amp; Wanderer's relationship)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Deacon &amp; Female Sole Survivor, Deacon &amp; Sole Survivor (Fallout)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lying Eyes and Honest Hands [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992751</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and who are not accustomed to have it done to them; then work which one hopes may be of some use;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>then rest, nature, books, music, love for one's neighbor — such is my idea of happiness.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em><br/> - Leo Tolstoy -</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The walk he was on to Sanctuary from the Old North Church was one of the calmest Deacon had ever taken in the Commonwealth he could remember. Sure, there was the distant gunfire, but nothing had actively tried to kill him.</p><p>He had passed several checkpoints that the Minutemen had commandeered since the fall of the Institute. Their patrols were more regular than they had been in the past month – hell the past three years. They never tried to confront any of the travelers while they stood vigilant, simply greeting the caravan’s passings then return to look for the threat of super mutants or raiders.</p><p>He had yet to see any brash accosting and demands to know where the travelers were going or what they carried with them. The men and woman in their hats always said, ‘travel safe’ or ‘we heard down the road there was some trouble maybe you should take another route’. It was never an order, just a suggestion.</p><p>At one of the checkpoints, Deacon passed a synth who blended into the ranks of the Minutemen. He had proudly declared himself as such and the militia took him in with open arms – as they had done for several others. Of course, there were those amongst the ranks who grumbled with the idea but they were always outnumbered. While Deacon passed he went unnoticed, as he often did. Watching the synth strike up conversation with another Minutemen, both smiling fondly at each other.</p><p>He passed the red rocket truck stop that Sturges had turned into a makeshift workshop where he would spend long nights tinkering so not make too much of a racket inside the settlement. Leaning against the old gas prices was a warped wooden sign painted brightly with one word: Sanctuary. An arrow pointed towards the town behind it.</p><p>Despite his sunglasses he could see how bright the day had become. Deacon squinted at the blue in the corner of his vision. It was the first warm day of spring, where one didn't need to wear a coat but could if they wanted. He had settled for one of his old flannels tossed over an old white tee shirt. The strap of his riffle, Churchbell dug into the fabric. The pale green one he used the wear was mysteriously missing from HQ. He assumed Tinker Tom or Drummer Boy must have snagged it at some point to use as a pillow.</p><p>The brightness of the day and the birds singing softly around him felt odd – wrong somehow. The sinking feeling, he had come so accustomed to in his stomach, returned. Everything was going too well. Something bad must be about to happen. Deacon pushed the feeling away knowing full well it would return.</p><p>He brought his hand to his head. It was met with little over an inch of hair, protecting his scalp from the sun overhead. They had been too busy with the aftermath of Tea Party for him to shave. It didn't bother him like it normally would so, he let it be.</p><p>Deacon glanced at his reflection in the side of a rear-view mirror dangling from the frame of a car. The sun glinted through the greys raking through the pale orange. His hair was thinner than he remembered. He stopped walking, starring into the cracked mirror. His face hadn't changed, but for some reason he didn't recognize the man looking back at him. Charlie - his little Wanderer, didn't know how long his hair had gotten or that he even stopped shaving it. This was the longest they had been apart since she emerged from the vault. Would she be able to recognize him where he couldn't? He rounded the corner towards the now repaired bridge into the sightlines of the goliath in which Sanctuary had bloomed into.</p><p>When the bombs had fallen there were two planes overhead near the small suburb. They were savaged by some long-ago lot of settlers that happened to cross the town before Preston’s gaggle made their way there. From what Deacon gathered the old settlers had ripped apart the planes with a suit of power armor that Sturges had successfully managed to fully repair in the last months.</p><p>The wings of the planes and metal of collapsed houses had been used to create walls for the city. The scraps becoming sturdy homes, shops, Sheffield's bar and other various buildings. All perched precariously on top of the inner cluster of pre-war homes inside the safety of the wing turned walls. The work had continued even after Preston left for the Castle two years ago. Sanctuary’s skyline could put the Great Green Jewel itself to shame now.</p><p>A council including Sturges, Marcy and a ghoul named Hodgins were in charge of the town. MacCready had been added to the list of figureheads after weaseling himself in – the home he and his son shared was one of the closest to Charlie’s. A fact that wasn’t lost on him.</p><p>The outskirts of the main section of settlement had farmland steadily developing. Every pre-war houses had their roofs repaired, most had families or other groups of people moved in. Nearly every streetlight had been successfully repaired and other lights and wires dangled from trees to roofs and when the sun set that night, he knew they would glint with the ferocious determination of the people who made the land their home.</p><p>He glanced to the gates of the inner ring with Minutemen standing guard and the two houses directly outside of them. On the right was Sturges and Tina’s home which they had commandeered when the truck stop wasn’t needed. The aforementioned suit of power armor was still suspended from one wall as it was the last time he was here, surrounded by tools in varying states of rust.</p><p>To Deacon’s left however was what he would call a shrine. The only house in Sanctuary that had its windows boarded, door firmly locked. It was on one of the first breaks Desdemona had forced her to take that she, Sturges, and Codsworth had done so. The miraculously shriveled green shrubs were neatly trimmed as always. What patches of grass there was well maintained and confined to the front yard. On the stoop of the door was an arrangement of fresh hub flowers in vases. A plate with a single, unlit candle sat in the center of long since pooled wax.</p><p>Deacon would tip his hat to the candle if he had one on, as every settler of Sanctuary did as they passed it. Instead, he simply nodded. It was Preston who had started that tradition. As more people saw how it made Charlie smile, the more people who committed to the action. Every passing caravan knew about it at this point though most didn’t know why.</p><p>He went through the gate to the star of Sanctuary. Where the old tree and roundabout were and the smaller hauls of the planes were taken and hoisted up to the roofs of the pre-war homes. The wasteland-esque skyscrapers were beautiful in their defiance.</p><p>In a rocking chair on a porch, below the plane that had become Sheffield’s bar, rocked Mama Murphy in its shade. She was smoking a cigarette and looking towards the giant tree and bustling market wistfully. When she caught him staring she waved Deacon over with a boney hand.</p><p>“I was wonderin’ when you were gonna show up.” Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t a cigarette in the old woman’s hand. Whatever she was smoking was rolled up in scraps of old newspaper. From the smell, it was something that Hancock would be jealous of.</p><p>“Oh, mighty fortune teller, please tell me I finally win the lottery.” He leaned against the wall next to her chair, shifting Churchbell to the side as he did so. A steady breeze wove its way through the town, causing the wind chimes of shells and bone, pre-war tech and broken glass hanging from the warped metal awning to sing with their movement.</p><p>Mama Murphy flicked the ashes of her joint with a smirk, “What’d ya’ mean finally? Kid, you already got the whole world.”</p><p>Deacon smiled off towards Charlie’s home, behind the tree. “How’s she doing?”</p><p>“Misses you somethin’ awful though she ain’t ever going to say it out loud.” She hummed, “Be better if you were in her light rather than shadow.”</p><p>“You know that ain’t my stick Murphy.”</p><p>“It could be.” She mumbled something he couldn’t catch, taking another drag then clearing her throat. “You've always avoided corners and doorways kid and I ain't sure if you know why. Have you looked at the world recently? It's changin’. Do you understand what's happening inside of you because of it? I know… it's scary when your minds muddled and dusty. Like a mirror you haven't been able to clean properly for two dozen years. You smudge the nervousness to sleep. Streaks on the glass and that has always made your face harder to see are worsening. And that has always made you more nervous.” She brough the joint back to her mouth, on the exhale she continued. “You don't even know why you're nervous anymore kid. The things that keep you up at night can't get to you anymore. Do you know that? We're all just tiny animals turnin’ our heads towards each other and looking away when the other eye catches our own.”</p><p>Whatever quip that he was going to come up with was cut off by MacCready’s arrival. He had a large wooden crate full of newspapers in various states of decay in his arms. Beside him was a boy about six or seven who held one of the papers in his arms. “Where do ya’ want these Mama?”</p><p>“Hm? Oh, the kitchen table RJ.” Mama Murphy looked to her front door as he nodded in response. She looked down to the joint, “Forgot I told him I was runnin’ low.”</p><p>MacCready knelt down and his son set the paper he was holding back on the pile. The boy stayed by them while his father went inside. “Are yous feelin’ any betters Mama M?” A gap in his teeth made his words whistle and his curly mop of blond hair hardly reached the arm rest of her chair. He was thinner than a child his age should be and oblong pink scars peppered his body, a reminder that he had once been racked with a terrible sickness – though Deacon wasn’t sure what that sickness was.</p><p>“Ah, right as rain kid. Don’t you worry.” She smiled warmly at the boy who was now very much focused on looking at Deacon.</p><p>“I’ve nevers seens somebody with hairs like yours mister.” His voice had a tinge of awe in it.</p><p>MacCready came back out of her home and the boy beamed a smile up, a new train of thought gripping him. “Pa cans I go plays with Shaun now?”</p><p>He returned the smile. “You promised Sturges and I you would help fix one the water purifiers Duncan.” He ruffled his son’s hair, “But after, if it’s alright with Char.”</p><p>Deacon sucked in a breath, playing it off as a yawn that went unnoticed. Because when did MacCready notice <em>anything</em>.</p><p>He made no secret with her about his aversions with the ex-merc. It hit a particular nerve when he spoke so casually of Charlie, it wasn’t just because he had gotten her shot in his carelessness before.</p><p>Duncan blew a raspberry to which MacCready repeated back. “You head down to the river okay squirt? I’ll be there in a minute.”</p><p>“Okie dokie,” Duncan waved to them as he bounced off to the main gate. “Byes Mama M! Byes other mister!”</p><p>“You really feeling alight?” MacCready spoke to Mama Murphy but he was looking towards Charlie’s house as adjusted his hat, revealing the faded O+ on the corner of his forehead. “It was a nasty fall.”</p><p>“Quit worryin’.” She swatted at him, “And it wasn’t nasty, just a trip.”</p><p>“Alright, alright would ya’ stop smacking me every darn time I talk to you.” He acknowledged Deacon for the first time, “Sorry, don’t think we’ve met.”</p><p>“Nah, don’t think we have.” Deacon nodded but provide no other information.</p><p>The corner of MacCready’s mouth twitch. Mama Murphy became very interested in her joint as she sat between them. “You runnin’ with one of the caravans? Don’t look like a Minutemen.”</p><p>Deacon knew he was on the town council but he didn’t know being a snoop was in the job description. “Somethin’ like that.”</p><p>“Something like that? Look buddy, my job in Sanctuary is part of security so what’s your business here?”</p><p>“Robert,” Mama Murphy flicked ashes of her joint as she gestured to Charlie’s home, “he’s a friend.”</p><p>“A friend?” He squinted at Deacon before letting his expression fall – things finally clicking into place. “Oh, you’re <em>that</em> friend.” MacCready threw his arms up into the air before letting them fall. “Great. I just got her to believe me when I said you weren’t coming back.”</p><p>Deacon doubted that was true. He relaxed his jaw before the tension there could build up and closed his eyes slowly before looking at MacCready behind his glasses. Still leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world. “Now why would you go and lie to her like that?”</p><p>MacCready let out a puff of air, “Hasn’t she given enough to your freaking cult, leave her alone.”</p><p>“Honored you think highly enough of us to say we’re of cult standing. I’ll have to add that to the brochures.”</p><p>Mama Murphy put her hands out on either side of her, hitting both of the men, ashes from her joint smearing into Deacon’s jeans as MacCready let out a yelp. “Ight that’s enough from both of ya kids. Feels like I’m between two dogs about to lunge. It’s makin’ me tired. You,” she pointed at MacCready, “you know damn well you don’t decide where she wanders off to. And you,” she directed her attention to Deacon with a shake of her head, “stop stalling.”</p><p>“Just let her be happy.” MacCready muttered as he turned away to where Duncan had gone, “If she gets hurt because of you-”</p><p>“Like a bullet in the arm from not paying attention?” Deacon stated flatly, knowing fully well that the gunner would know what he was referencing.</p><p>From the way MacCready balled his hand into a fist as he sulked off, he was right.</p><p>“You didn’t need to say that.” Mama Murphy flicked the last of her joint to the ground before shuffling her foot over it. “He knows.”</p><p>“I would hope so,” Deacon pushed off the wall, his gun shifting back to its normal place between his shoulders. “she couldn’t lift it for a month. How was she supposed to pass me the fancy lads in such a state?”</p><p>“Not that, you idiot.” She sighed once again gesturing to Charlie’s house. “Go on. At least try to get out of the shadows.”</p><p>“Yes’m.” He left her side and ventured through the bustling market to reach the other side. It wasn't a large space yet it held so much. The base of the tree was surrounded by two stories worth of shacks – the ground floor market stalls, the above the store owner’s homes. What had once been the road of the cul-de-sac became a hot spot of gathered people. A large crowed by Commonwealth standards of about twenty. Each person in the crowd moves as if unseeing hands dragged them this way and that, pulling their eyes to one thing and then another. They moved past each other with greetings or with their heads down. Each of them with a goal to achieve for the day. The people moved around like captivating shoals of fish. There was chatter between sellers and buyers at the stalls, old friends catching up as they walked past, new friends being made.</p><p>Meat was being grilled from somewhere off, probably Jun getting ready for the resident’s group diner. What a strange thing that was. It was a mess hall of sorts that Jun ran, where as long as somebody lived in Sanctuary and pulled their own weight or were a child, old, sick or with child – they didn't have to pay caps to eat. Deacon couldn't think of another settlement that had that kind of system. No one went hungry in the community. Not on Charlie’s watch.</p><p>He finally wove his through the crowd and reach the stairs that lead up to the metal heap the rested upon the Long’s claimed pre-war home. What normally greeted him at the bottom of the stairs were a few flowerpots with plants he couldn't name but had seen countless times thriving in the soil. But there was another aspect added this time.</p><p>Deacon slowed as he watched Codsworth and a young boy in a striped shirt moving left to right in front of the stairs. Codsworth was counting to five then Shaun would turn and the process would repeat. He had a stick propped up on his shoulder, as if it was a rifle. As he moved, the breeze ruffled his black hair making it land in his eyes – which he impatiently pushed away before continuing his march. The mister handy himself had a bowler hat sitting in the center of his body.</p><p>He stopped counting abruptly when he spot Deacon, Shaun nearly bumping into him. “Everything alright Codsy?” Shaun tilted his head to the side; the same way Charlie did when she asked a question.</p><p>Codsworth stammered in his response. “O-of course, Master Shaun, everything is fine.”</p><p>“If everything was fine why’d you do that.” Shaun asked the question as if it was a statement. He was so much like his mother.</p><p>Codsworth look towards Deacon, “Can I help you sir?” At this Shaun spun around and looked at him. His eyes were bright and full of wonder and though they were brown instead of his mother's hazel – they crinkled in the corners the same ways hers did when she asked a silent question. When there is a puzzle she was trying to figure out. Shaun move slightly behind Codsworth. Once the mister handy noticed he let out a small laugh. “It's quite alright.” he spoke to Shaun. Whatever scan Codsworth had been running on Deacon must have been completed. The formality and Codsworth tone was replaced with familiarity “Mr. Deacon, it's been quite some time.”</p><p>“Only a week or two Codsworth my man.” He smiled in greeting; Shaun stayed in his place behind the robot.</p><p>Codsworth scoffed but there was no malice in his tone, “Sixty-three days to be exact.”</p><p>“That doesn’t sound like two weeks to me…” Shaun half whispered, looking at Deacon from being one of Codsworth’s arms, then his eyes widened.</p><p>“Whatcha thinking kiddo?” Deacon put his hands in his pockets, in a bid to seem less threatening.</p><p>Shaun tilted his head to the side again, taking a step out from behind Codsworth. “You’re mom’s best friend, aren’t you? You were there when she got me back with Preston but you didn't have hair the last time I saw you.”</p><p>Deacon let out a small heartfelt laugh as he brought his hand to the back of his head, moving it through his hair. “Yeah, I'm trying something new.”</p><p>Shaun frowned. “Does your guy's family need her?”</p><p>How it warmed Deacon's heart every time he heard her referred the Railroad as her family. Codsworth shifted slightly – he was wondering the same thing. Deacon shook his head slowly with a faint smile. “Nah, just coming to check in.”</p><p>With that, the beam returned to Shaun’s face and his tone lightened. “Oh, in that case you can't go upstairs right now!” Shaun shook his head from side to side so quickly was a wonder he didn't fall down.</p><p>“And why is that?”</p><p>“Because she's singing right now! And if you go up there she'll stop. That’s why Codsworth and I are down here. To make sure no one goes up and bothers her cause she's painting. Painting and singing.” Once again the smile faltered, “She's always so happy when she does that.”</p><p>Deacon knew that she liked to draw. Charlie would always absentmindedly grab a piece of charcoal from whatever fire pit they were around and draw on the concrete floor or on bits of pre-war metal. But he'd never actually seen her paint something before. Though when there was down time, and she got her hands-on paper and a pencil – she made the most beautiful portraits he’d ever seem. And if she was singing? That meant she was smiling. A sudden ache pulled at him from somewhere deep in his chest. An ache that proclaimed that he'd do anything to see her smile.</p><p>“Ah… playing Minutemen I see.” Deacon kicked a small stone the side with his boot.</p><p>“Yup!” Shaun puffed his chest out, “Someday I'll be a Minuteman just like mom and Preston and protect everyone – at a minute's notice!"</p><p>“A good goal to have,” Deacon looked up the stairs, “Hey buddy… you wanna try your hand at espionage?”</p><p>“Espa-what?” Shaun’s eyes gleaned with the upcoming mischief.</p><p>“Mr. Deacon…” Codsworth however, seemed to have other plans. “I do no think that is the best idea.”</p><p>“I don't know what that word means,” Shaun’s smile grew.</p><p>It was a contagious grin and it spread to Deacon, “Has your mom ever told you what I do?”</p><p>Shaun’s head tilted again, “She says you keep her safe.”</p><p>That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “Does she now?”</p><p>He nodded, hair fuzzing into a black cloud. “She always says it with a smile too, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.”</p><p>“You had an idea for a game Mr. Deacon?” Codsworth sighed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! I was going to make this a two parter but I have some tender moments that I didn't want to crowed into this chapter so hold tight while I get that cued up! The version of hallelujah that plays on the radio in this chapter is based of <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/3pRaLNL3b8x5uBOcsgvdqM?si=08ZDhEWGRcWNp__gAb7Iyg">this one</a> that's nestled into my <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Qt5V7N460SjuwitYRg8gN?si=Dkcv8Dq1TDuFuZ59zWHQTQ">Deacon playlist</a> on spotify!<br/>(its a little late in the night/early in the morning when I'm posting this so sorry for any grammar errors! I'll catch them on tomorrows read through!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“…The same kind of music haunts her bedroom I'm almost me again, she's almost you…Tell me who, and I'll be thanking them The numbered lovers of Duke Ellington Do I owe each kiss to lip and cheek as soft As Chet can sing "Let's Get Lost" And Let The Good Times Roll Let Smoke Rings from this Paper, Doll Blow sweet and thick 'til every thought of It Don't Mean A Thing…I've got some colour back, she thinks so, too I laugh like me again, she laughs like you…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>- Andrew Hozier -</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When Deacon and Shaun made their way up the stairs – with Codsworth diligently keeping watch down below, he immediately noticed three main obstacles. One, Dogmeat was inside the house. Two, one of the windows they were crouched in front of was open, causing any sound they made to be heard. Three, while Charlie did have her back to the glass – to the side of her was a polished mirror hanging on the wall. If she looked up, she would see them clearly. However, she seemed too engrossed with her current work to notice.</p><p>She was sitting on an overturned barrel, hair up in a half falling bun with a mostly clean, thin paint brush shoved into it. Its underside shaven as it had been since they lost Glory. The black of her hair still shined. Much like his, she had threads of silver woven into it. Someone her age shouldn't have that many grays, but Charlie had been through too much too soon for time to care.</p><p>There was a familiar button up on her, one that used to be olive green but was long since faded. Deacon hid a grin from behind the glass at seeing his shirt on her. It wasn't the first time she had worn his clothes, but she looked so at peace as she hummed to the radio… like it had always been hers. The sleeves were rolled up allowing paint to spatter on her arms. From the way it fell on either side of her it wasn't buttoned. She didn't have shoes on and in that moment it was like the world outside didn't matter. It was just her, whatever song Travis Miles had picked out on the radio, and the tattered canvas in front of her, propped up on a bucket and leaning against the side of her coffee table. The painting on it looked to be pre-war and she was in the midst of restoring it. It was made up of lily pads and water of blue streaks, smudges of pink put into the leaves.</p><p>Shaun knelt beside him, though the boy could hardly see into the window with his height. He tried to climb on to a potted fern Charlie had on the balcony for purchase before Deacon shook his head and motion to a crate that he could stand in instead.</p><p>“Mom says that was in the old house.” Shaun whispered, “She finally got the right paints to fix it up.”</p><p>As soon as Shaun spoke, Dogmeat looked up from the couch in which he was resting behind the canvas. The hound tilted his head to the side and look through the glass directly at them. Deacon froze as he watched Dogmeat smell the air.</p><p>Hoping he would be on their side in the current endeavor, he brought his finger to his mouth and made a silent shushing motion. He could swear the dog rolled his eyes before his head lowered back into the couch, returning to his nap.</p><p>He was fully recovered from his injury now, that prosthetic Sturges made to replace his missing front limb had become long since acclimated to. It was one of those moments that Deacon didn't like to think about, had to be almost a year ago now when it happened. In one of the few moments where Deacon wasn't by Charlie side when he should have been. She had told him it was a pack of ferals and they had gotten separated. One had bitten clear through his leg. Rarely had he seen her so racked with worry and grief as she was in the weeks of Dogmeat’s recovery.</p><p>One song ended on the radio and melted into another. It was one that Travis would play only when he ran out of everything else, but she seemed to know it immediately and had perked up some. Deacon could see Charlie smiling in the reflection of the mirror from his hiding place. There is a smudge of paint – bright and green going across her cheek. His hand ached to wipe it away.</p><p>Shaun elbowed him and in the process slipped. Before Shaun could lose his balance, Deacon put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, keeping him steady as he whispered in his ear. “She sings this one all the time.”</p><p>Deacon nodded, “I've only ever heard her hum it before.”</p><p>“Maybe we’ll get lucky.” Shaun flashed a toothy grin before looking back into the house, then the smile dropped.</p><p>Charlie was turned around now, her arms folded over her chest looking directly at the two of them. “You might have, if you could be a little quieter when you whispered sweetie.”</p><p>“Uh-oh busted.” They said the words together, Deacon smiled at Shaun, letting him know he wasn't in trouble.</p><p>She set the larger paint brush she held on the barrel and stood. “Well, come on get inside.” Charlie gestured to the door from the other side of the open window. He helped Shaun jump down from the crate and then moved towards the door.</p><p>When Shaun went inside, he immediately hugged his mother. “You got paint on your face.” He giggled.</p><p>“Do I now?” she bent down and began rubbing her cheek against his, earning a laugh from her son that she echoed before grabbing a rag.</p><p>Shaun moved to looked at the painting. “Mom, it's looking so good!” he beamed, “Can you teach me how to paint like that?”</p><p>“Sure, sweetheart.” She smiled down to him with an indescribable warmth as she flattened the poofs of his hair. Shaun looked to the amendments of the painting; Charlie looked to Deacon. Her smile softened but it held the same kindness. “You don't call? You don't write? I was starting to worry.”</p><p>Of course, she would recognize him. There shouldn't have been a doubt in his mind. “Well, you know how work in the office. I can hardly ever get away these days.”</p><p>She left Shaun’s side and came closer to him. “You know I've had to ask PAM how you're doing,” she gestured to her pip boy on the coffee table, “and she hates you, you know? All I get is a ‘yes’ when I ask if you're still breathing.”</p><p>“Isn't that enough?”</p><p>Charlie put her hand on the side of his neck, thumb grazing over his jaw line. He could feel the warmth of the metal of her wedding band across his skin. The slight roughness of a scar on her palm that marred it's gentleness. A scar from a job that had gone wrong – another time that they were separated. It was the only way she could communicate to another agent that she was a part of the Railroad. In the report she said she only had access to a shard of glass and her opposing palm, there she carved the rail sign symbol for ally. Charlie pulled away upon remembering Shaun was in the room. The smile on her face faltered, the tightening of his chest returned as she moved from him. Deacon shoved his hands back into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to her. She noticed the action – of course she did.</p><p>The smile not leaving her face as she looked back to her son. “Do I want to know what the two of you boys were up to?”</p><p>“Es-pee-kanage.” Shaun looked over his shoulder from the painting.</p><p>Deacon closed his eyes slowly, inwardly wincing as she raised an eyebrow towards him. “Oh, were you now?”</p><p>Shaun nodded enthusiastically</p><p>She reached over him and put the discarded paint brush in a bucket of water, earning a glance from Dogmeat as she picked the canvas up, leaning it against a bookshelf. “I thought you were marching as a Minutemen?”</p><p>“Well, you do both so why can't I?”</p><p>She smiled again, this one not reaching her eyes as she knelt down in front of him. “Because one is a lot more dangerous than the other.”</p><p>“Nah, all we do is sit on a soap box and preach the good gospel in Diamond City.” Deacon chimed.</p><p>She looked to him, “You mean you did before you met me.”</p><p>There was a clattering on the stairs outside, her and Deacon both snapped their heads towards the window at its start. He brought his hand to his back, where Churchbell rested.</p><p>Codsworth’s voice called out, “Do be careful Mr. Duncan!” He watched Charlie’s shoulders relaxed as Duncan continued to bound up the steps, Deacon’s hand returned to his side.</p><p>Shaun called out with a slight whine, “Codsy! You were supposed to be on watch!”</p><p>“My defenses stood not a chance, young master Shaun.” Codsworth sounded gleeful in the words as he followed up to the porch.</p><p>Duncan's mop of blonde hair bounded past the window, resting at the door.</p><p>“You can come in Duncan.” Charlie called.</p><p>“Hi miss Hales.” The boy shuffled his feet, “I was wonderings if Shaun ‘n I coulds go play downs by the creek withs Billy ands the other kids?”</p><p>Shaun’s toothy grin returned, “Can I mom?”</p><p>Charlie looked out the window towards the sky, “I want you boys back by sundown alright? Please stay were the-”</p><p>“I know I know,” her son’s smile didn’t change, “stay where the water’s slow and don’t go too deep into it and stay insight of a watch tower.”</p><p>"And take Codsworth with you.” She ruffled his hair as Dogmeat let out a poof from the couch, then hopped down from it with a stretch. “And Dogmeat.” she added.</p><p>The boys muttered a mix of thanks as they headed for the door.</p><p>“Shaun,” Charlie called out, her voice serious, “please be safe.”</p><p>“I always am mom.” He smiled with a nod and then followed his friend downstairs, Dogmeat at his heels.</p><p>“What of dinner mum?” Codsworth fidgeted.</p><p>“I got it tonight Codsy, don’t worry.” She took the bowler hat from his head, setting it on a bookshelf one of his eyes following the movement, “Go have fun.”</p><p>“I shall see to their safety mum!” He spun in a slight circle before heading out the door. As Codsworth turned Deacon took his gun from his back, leaning in in the corner of the shelf.</p><p>Charlie shook her head as she watched them pass the window before closing it. She was slow in her movements, like she was trying to buy time. Deacon watched her turn around – it felt like an eternity passed before she brought her hand back to his face. In turn his own was raised to hold her touch against his skin.</p><p>“Don't do that again.” She whispered; a hidden pain stitched into each syllable. “Deacon, I was so worried about you.”</p><p>“Sorry boss.”</p><p>“I thought you’d disappear.” She sighed, hand not moving. He stilled under her warmth. “I know Dez told me to take time off. But two months? I'm going stir crazy.” A look was spared back out the window to the town below before returning to his glasses. “Don't get me wrong, I'm so happy to be with Shaun but you guys need me.”</p><p>“The Minutemen need you too.”</p><p>“Preston is also making me take leave time.” She sighed again, tracing his jaw line with a familiarity that was never so open between with others nearby. Deacon wasn’t sure when that became so. He watched her expression shift as she realized then try to pull away, his hand on hers stopped the action.</p><p>“I'm sorry.” He repeated</p><p>“You're growing out your hair.” She brought her other hand up and ran it over the back of his scalp. He closed his eyes at the touch, thankful she couldn’t see. “It looks nice.”</p><p>“I don't look too much like a pumpkin?”</p><p>“On the contrary, you look like the prettiest pumpkin in the entire world Dee.”</p><p>He took her hand from the side of his face now and she let him hold it in front of him. Deacon placed his thumb on the centre of the scar and moved it over the roughness marred into the skin, as if his touch alone were enough to make it leave her body. “I should have been there.”</p><p>“You were busy.” She moved her hand so that their fingers laced together, “It's not like you knew that was going to go south.”</p><p>“I should have.”</p><p>Charlie let go of his hand, moving towards the kitchen of her home. “Help me cook, will you?”</p><p>He stared at her a moment before taking a step forwards. “You know I'm terrible at cooking.”</p><p>She made a tisking sound, “You ain't that bad.” Charlie reached into a crate and pulled out several potatoes “Dice these?”</p><p>“How big of cubes are we talking?”</p><p>“Hm, about the size of your thumb nail.”</p><p>He did as he was asked and grabbed the knife from the kitchen counter, moving to the cutting board with the potatoes. She in turn, moved to her makeshift stove with a cast iron pan and a chunk of meat from her fridge in her hands.</p><p>“Pretty nifty folks got electricity here.” Deacon hitched his head towards the ice box.</p><p>She nodded in agreement. “We’ve come a long way huh?”</p><p>“You should be proud Wands.”</p><p>“We got a long way to go.” Charlie began cutting chunks of the meat off and setting it in the pan with sizzling oil. “Dez told me she was gonna let me know through PAM when I was needed back. Is everything alright?”</p><p>He looked over to her forgetting the potatoes momentarily, words falling before he could catch them “Yeah everything’s peachy.”</p><p>Kitchen rag in hand, she looked over at him – silently begging for the truth.</p><p>It was with an ache that Deacon relented, “I missed you.”</p><p>Charlie turned away from the pan fully, taking a step towards him. Deacon set the knife down as she came closer. “You could have gotten me at any time.” Her chin tilted to the side.</p><p>He shook his head slowly swallowing words he knew he could not say to her. “And take you away from your boy? Who am I to do such a thing?” Deacon moved back towards the knife to finish the task at hand but she stopped him. Her hand on his forearm. “I'm not going to be the one who takes you away from Shaun a second time.”</p><p>She let go of him, taking the diced potatoes and tossing them in with the meat. “You know that ain’t possible Dee.” Charlie moved to one of the green plants on the counter as he added the remainder of the vegetables to the pan. She snipped a few leaves of basil off, tossing them in as well before hopping to sit on the counter next to him. “How’s the family?”</p><p>Deacon’s hands returned to his pockets as he leaned against the countertop. “Dez has finally taken a lover. I believe it was Finland the gals were running away to. Carrington’s perfected his anti-radroach spray, Drummer’s growing a beard, Morris opened a shop in Dimond City with PAM as the front man and – oh get this, Tinker’s writing poetry now.”</p><p>Charlie nudged him with her elbow and he let the action rock him to the side. “Dee.”</p><p>“Alright alight.” He chuckled. The song on the radio changing. It was a guitar, low and beautiful – it sounded like the start of Hallelujah, “Everyone’s been busy, not to the point where we’ve need to call in the cavalry though.” He nudged her the same way she had him. “Layline’s got the makings of a good heavy – just like you said she would. Dez hasn’t been smoking <em>as</em> much. Drummer’s visited his dad and brother in Bunker Hill, he’s even coxed Tinker out to watch the sunrise once or twice. Carrington’s only sworn in my general direction… eighty three times. Terry and the rest are less jumpy.” She lost the tension her shoulder’s were holding as he continued. “We’re thinking about moving HQ.”</p><p>“We are?” She turned to face him, “Where to?”</p><p>“You’re not gonna believe me when I say option number one.” He looked to the living room in front of them, to the painting she was restoring. Something that was once hers that she was desperately trying to take back. “It’s the Switchboard.”</p><p>“No way. No way Carrington’s going to be okay with that.”</p><p>“He’s the main vote against the move so you’re right.” Deacon sighed, eyes not leaving the fresh brush strokes on the canvas. “The church doesn’t have a back door anymore; brotherhood remnants still might come knocking.”</p><p>“What better place to hide than plain sight.” She whispered before bringing her voice to its normal register. “No one would think we’d go back home and anybody who would isn’t…”</p><p>“Isn’t still around to know where Switchboard is.” He finished her line of thought, “Tom’s got some ideas on reinforcement, Drummer’s got a few about more secure drop and runner routs, and Morris has ones on clearer communication. But ultimately-”</p><p>“It’s Dez’s call.”</p><p>“Bingo.” He slumped inward next to her. Hoping she wouldn’t ask his opinion.</p><p>“Where do you weigh in on this?” She asked.</p><p>“I think having the old base would make it easier to move synths. Plus, in the bunker I didn’t have to see Carrington as often.”</p><p>She nodded, “How are the packages handling everything?”</p><p>“Most synths are either in safehouses on their way to the Memory Dean or trying to acclimate like a fish in new water.”</p><p>“Not all of them want new memories?” She reached over and stirred the mix of potatoes and beef in the pan. He was content on watching the muscles of her arm move under his shirt. The sky outside had darkened some, clouds from incoming rain encroaching from behind the hills as night began to stake its claim.</p><p>Deacon shook his head. “Nada. Over half from Drum’s accounts. They said you inspired them to want to remember. Something about a speech you gave when underground.”</p><p>She sighed, setting the wooden spoon down then sitting back in her previous place. “It wasn’t a ‘speech’. I had gotten into a philosophical debate with Doctor Binet about the impact of memories and how they make us <em>us. </em>And maybe I made sure there were plenty of synths in the room when it happened.” Charlie’s shoulders lowered, her hand at her side – between them, balling into a fist. “Liam had agreed with me and not his father.”</p><p>“I know what you’re thinking.” His hand left his pocket, resting on top of hers causing her to loosen her grip. “Patriot made that choice. Not you.”</p><p>“It still hurts though.” She sighed, “It all always hurts.”</p><p>The voice in the radio’s song began to sing.<em> “Now I've heard there was a secret chord. That David played, and it pleased the Lord. But you don’t really care for music, do you? It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth. The minor falls, the major lifts. The baffled king composing…”</em></p><p>“Here.” Deacon pushed off from the counter. “Here, dance with me.”</p><p>“Huh?” She tilted her head to the side; in the same way she always did. Sadness being replaced with confusion.</p><p>He held his hand out to her to which she took and hopped down from the counter. “Dee the food will burn if it’s not being watched.”</p><p>“It’ll be fine.” Her opposing hand rested on his shoulder, head looking over her shoulder to the stove. “It’ll be fine.” He whispered, reassurance to himself more than her in the moment – hand ghosting over her hip as she drew closer.</p><p>
  <em>“Your faith was strong but you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof<br/>
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew her. She tied you to a kitchen chair. She broke your throne, and she cut your hair and from your lips she drew the-”</em>
</p><p>“Hey!” Charlie laughed the word out as he spun her, catching her once the full rotation was completed.</p><p>Deacon laughed in turn, drawing her in nearer. “I won’t let ya’ fall Wands.”</p><p>She looked up to him, faces closer than they had been in a long time. “You could’ve given me some warning though.” Despite the chastise, she was smiling.</p><p>“Never given you warnings about things before.” He echoed the grin.</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know,” The swayed around the kitchen together, “’Don’t go into that building it about collapse.’ ‘Don’t return that deathclaw egg, it’ll grow up to be a cartoonist’ ‘Don’t hang out with Hancock, he’s a bad influence.’”</p><p>“He <em>is</em> a bad influence.” The sun was setting now, Shaun and the other’s would be back soon. “You weren’t a whisky drinker before you met him.”</p><p>“And I wasn’t a dancer before I met you.”</p><p>
  <em>“Well people I've been here before I know this room and I've walked this floor. You see I used to live alone before I knew ya. And I've seen your flag on the marble arch but listen love, love is not some kind of victory march, no it's a cold and it's a broken-” </em>
</p><p>“Huh, I guess you got me there.”</p><p>“I don’t think you were much of one either.” She looked back to the stove then out the window, thinking the same thing he was.</p><p>“Ouchy, is my footing that off? Tom’s been trying to give me lessons, but they don’t really stick.”</p><p>“You know that’s not what I mean Dee.” She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder – her mouth brushed against the skin of his neck.</p><p>He breathed out. “Enlighten me?”</p><p>She exhaled with him, sending warmth through his skin. “I don’t think you let anyone close enough to dance with is all.”</p><p>
  <em>“There was a time you let me know what's really going on below, but now you never show it to me, do you? But I remember when I moved in you and the holy dove, she was moving too, and every breath we drew was-”</em>
</p><p>“How’s that kid we rescued from a fridge?” Deacon asked as they danced, needing to change the topic but knowing it wouldn’t slip past her attention.</p><p>“Billy?” They were more rocking than anything else at this point, her lips remained in the crook of his neck – dangerously close to the skin. He could feel every syllable she uttered in her words. “He and his folks are doing just fine; they’ve settled in nicely with the rest of the town. His mother’s growing tea that the caravans are real interested in selling.”</p><p>Deacon needed to keep feeling that, her breath against his skin. “Do you remember when we found Curie?” He asked, trying to find a topic she could go on a tangent about.</p><p>He felt her nod. “I got bit by a molerat and now I get dizzy if I stand up too fast.”</p><p>“That you do.” They moved in another languid circle, “I’ve had to keep you from falling more than once.”</p><p>She let out an airy laugh that raised bumps along his skin. Deacon closed his eyes as if the sensation could be forgotten if it were not immediately committed to memory. “Do you remember when you were delirious with fever when you had the flu and I had to drag you back here practically draped over my shoulder?</p><p>He slowed their movement, thinking. “I remember how soft your bed is and how good you are at making soup. What kind was it again?”</p><p>
  <em>“Now I've done my best, I know it wasn't much. I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch. I've told the truth; I didn’t come here to just to fool you. And even though it all went wrong I'll stand right here before the Lord of song. With nothing, nothing on my tongue but-”</em>
</p><p>“Hmm,” He could feel her hum out, “I think it was just chicken broth with some other stuff in it.”</p><p>Another slow circle around the kitchen as the song faded back into the guitar. “Well, whatever the combo was, I send my compliments to the chef.”</p><p>Charlie nodded against him, “I’ll have to make it again then.”</p><p>“Oh hallelujah.” Deacon smiled as she pulled away, reluctantly he let her as she looked up at him, hands still intertwined. The tips of their noses a centimeter apart. This wasn’t the first time they had been like this and as he thought back to the last his jaw tensed. She clocked the movement and began to look away. He stopped her before it could be dedicated to, bringing his hand from her side to the side of her face.</p><p>They both stopped moving entirely, whatever song the radio switched to completely forgotten. The sizzling of the food on the stove ignored. He stared down at her through the tinted black of his glasses, watching her throat move with a swallow. Deacon closed his eyes slowly before opening them again she looked up at him in silent question as she often did. He began to lower his head towards her own and then the door opened. Dogmeat then Shaun then Codsworth filing into the home.</p><p>Deacon moved towards the near burning food as Charlie went to the doorway. “Shaun Robert Hale.” She called out in a stern voice reminiscent of Desdemona. “You’re absolutely drenched young man.”</p><p>Dogmeat moved off to what he assumed was Shaun’s room. Codsworth puttered into the kitchen, taking Deacon’s role as food rescuer, so he opted for leaning in the doorway – watching the exchange.</p><p>Shaun had become very interested in his sopping wet shoes and trying to hide his knee from his mother.</p><p>She knelt down in front of him upon realizing this, the angry Dez completely removed from her tone. “Sweetheart, what happened?” Charlie brought her hand to his face, brushing the wet curling tendrils of hair from his eyes.</p><p>“We were climbing on the rocks and…and I slipped.” The next words came out rushed, fear seeping into them. “I’m really sorry it was an accident it won’t happen again-”</p><p>“Hey hey hey.” She cut him off, wiping a tear from his cheek. “Shaun I’m not mad, its okay.”</p><p>“You- you’re not? The scientist, they would always get mad if I made a mistake and I thought…” he trailed off.</p><p>“No honey. I’m not mad at all.” She smiled at her son, the warmth it held earlier that evening returning in full force. “How bad is it?” She gestured to his knee.</p><p>“It’s just a scrape.” He mumbled.</p><p>“Why don’t you change in to your ‘jamas then we’ll get it cleaned so it doesn’t get infected then have dinner.”</p><p>“Dinner in my pjs? Okay!” He smiled up at her as she stood, moving to a med kit, then he moved towards his bedroom, “Thanks mom.”</p><p>“Expertly handled mum,” Codsworth chimed from Deacon’s side as she took stock of the box’s inventory. Worry was laced in his words, “I’m truly sorry for letting him go so near the water.”</p><p>“You don’t control what shenanigans he gets up to.” Satisfied with the state of the box, she turned the radio off. “You didn’t get wet did you Codsy?”</p><p>“Oh no mum! I’m spick and span!” His tone lowered to one of genuine shame, “I fully accept all responsibility and request to be reprimanded for my ineptitude.”</p><p>Charlie turned around, walking towards her mister handy. She lifted a hand, lightly tapping it against the metal shell where the bowler had had resided earlier. “Accidents happen Codsy. He’s nearly a teenager, they get scrapes and scratches – that’s a part of being a kid.”</p><p>“When I was his age I had broken my tibia six times.” Deacon grinned.</p><p>“Oh, heavens forbid!” If Codsworth were flesh and bone, he was sure he’d faint.</p><p>Charlie shook her head as she walked into the kitchen between them, “Aright you two, help me set the table. Deacon?”</p><p>“Yes’m?”</p><p>“Can you think of a story to tell when I’m cleaning out his cut, Shaun doesn’t like blood.”</p><p>“’Course, how about the time we found an alien spaceship?” He moved, taking the plates from her.</p><p>“Perfect.” She looked up at him, despite the rain now failing in the dark outside – it felt like the sky had remained blue just for her smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you thought this read well please leave a comment! Its the push I need to write the other half!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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